Down for the Count
by Enkidu07
Summary: The title pretty much says it all. I am apparently back to whumping Dean like there is no tomorrow. Challenge word: 'Abrupt.' Full story added.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Down for the count

**Author**: Enkidu07

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Challenge Word**: "Abrupt"

**Players**: Mad Server, Onyx Moonbeam, Orange Autumn, IheartSam7, deangirl1, Nana56, PA Davis, supernaturalsammy67, NC Girl, MuffyMorrigan, Supernoodle, SherryDarling, mahtalie, TCB 0.5, Vanessa Sgroi

--

A whipping gust disrupts the midnight quiet alerting Dean that something unnatural has arrived. Debris snatched up by the aberrant wind batters at him. He turns his head to the deepening grave where Sam is hard at work. "They're heeeeere…" he starts to call but is abruptly silenced as something catches him in the lower abdomen making him fold as only a groin shot can make a man fold. He drops, taunting voice gone, breath gone, a low whine escaping his lips. He struggles to control his visceral reaction, swallowing repeatedly, fighting to draw in air, down for the count.

--

A/N: This is the beginning of a Dean!whump story that I have been playing with for the last few weeks. I happened to notice that this first paragraph was 100 words AND used the word Abrupt. It is a little incomplete as a stand-alone but hopefully it will whet your interest to check out the real story. If it catches your fancy, stay tuned…

Enkidu07


	2. Promises

A/N: Continuation of "Down for the Count." Eternal thanks to Mad Server for her beta skills... she just makes me want to hurt them more...

--

A whipping gust disrupts the midnight quiet, alerting Dean that something unnatural has arrived. Debris snatched up by the aberrant wind batters at him, backing him closer and closer to Sam. A branch catches his attention moments before it knocks him hard, nearly taking off his ear. _Fuck, that hurt_. Trying to shake off the dizziness, he turns his head to the deepening grave where Sam is hard at work. "They're heeeeere…" he starts to call but is abruptly silenced as something catches him in the lower abdomen, making him fold as only a groin shot can make a man fold. He drops, taunting voice gone, breath gone, a low whine escaping his lips. Luckily the wind is whipping loudly enough that he's pretty sure he can deny these sounds later. He struggles to control his visceral reaction, swallowing repeatedly, fighting to draw in air, down for the count.

Time stutters and the next thing he's aware of is Sam crouching beside him, talking, voice ripe with panic. Assessing. Touching. Supporting. The air is still around him, his harsh breaths now the predominant sound.

Dean continues to kneel, hunched forward, focuses on breathing, waits for the pain to abate.

Sam starts to tug him to his feet, hands under his arms from behind and Dean finally gets out, "I want to sit."

Sam lowers him back down and comes around front to see his eyes. Blood drips from Dean's temple and there's an acute sting as Sam presses a makeshift bandage to stem the flow. The sharp pain creates a blessed distraction from his groin and momentarily Dean's focus shifts to that.

"Dean, breathe, man. Are you okay? Where are you hurt?" Sam's hands are on him again and Dean's eyes close. After four sleep-deprived days and an epic grave hunt, Dean is ready to check out for a little while. As soon as he catches his breath and wipes that worried look off his brother's face, anyway.

Finally Dean allows Sam to lever him to his feet and drag him to the car, the landscape shifting extraordinarily beneath his feet. Still not in full control of his limbs and approaching the end of his endurance, he all but passes out in the passenger seat.

Dean closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again they are pulling up in front of a hospital. Dean rolls his eyes, ready to protest but is momentarily distracted when the motion of his eyes makes the lights halo in front of his face. He tunes into Sam, already talking in the seat beside him, sounding angry and defensive.

"…You're in pain, probably have internal injuries and a concussion. I am not sitting up all night watching you. We're getting you checked out."

Sam would sit up all night without blinking an eye and Dean knows it. But movement sends a wash of pain radiating from his groin and spreading through his loins and he lacks the breath to argue.

Apparently he looks as bad as he feels because his entry into the ER is met with scurried activity and he bypasses the waiting room. He quickly loses sight of Sam as Sam is relegated to filling out the appropriate paperwork and explaining what happened.

--

Sam spins the yarns of baseballs and bullies, falls and the danger of high-risk sports. He doesn't even listen to which story comes out as his eyes follow his brother into the exam room. He turns back as papers are shoved into his hands and is met with a kind face and a sympathetic smile. He wanly returns the smile and then reluctantly takes a seat to fill out the forms and begin the wait.

His stomach jumps with nerves as he remembers the sounds of Dean keening on the ground. The time it took him to break into the coffin and burn the remains stretched forever and now the echoes of his brother's whimpers are all that he can hear.

Prompting himself to breathe, he turns his attention to the forms in front of him. He reminds himself that crisis has been averted for now, that Dean is in good hands.

He's just starting to calm down, snickering a little over the form and his creative use of insurance information when he hears a commotion from the vague direction in which Dean disappeared. The ER is mildly chaotic but his Dean-radar tunes in and he tenses and waits for further signs of distress.

His alertness zeroes in on his brother's voice. Loud. Strong. Decisive. Angry. Controlled. All signs of Dean verging dangerously on panic. Sam is on his feet and in the room before his brother's voice dies out.

The scene before him freezes. A nurse backed against the wall. The doctor, holding exam equipment defensively between himself and Dean. His brother seemingly stuck mid-attempt to rise from the table.

Sam doesn't pause until he's by his brother's side, and is shocked when Dean aborts his escape attempt and all but clings to Sam instead, pulling him off balance and gripping his arms tight and close. Dean levels his voice and his eyes at the doctor: "Get the fuck away from me."

In Sam's wake, another physician pokes into the room. "Is there a problem in here?"

Dean's doctor looks at Dean and then at the newcomer, and then takes a breath and lets it go slowly. "No, we're okay. Everyone's okay. We're all just going to calm down and relax for a minute." His voice is pitched to soothe and Dean relaxes slightly, but his grip remains tight.

With one last look around the room, the second physician leaves them.

Dean's doctor looks toward him once again and steps forward, hands still full. "Okay, Dean, just calm down."

Dean is having none of it. "You calm down. And get that fucking thing away from me, you demonic son of a bitch."

"Dean," Sam chides softly, appalled at his brother's behavior and still assessing the situation. He maneuvers his left arm out of Dean's grip and winces along with him as he helps him rest back against the inclined gurney, noting that Dean still doesn't really attempt to move away.

"Sam," Dean grates out with an intense stare. Still trying to put the situation in order, Sam looks to the doctor, still at a wary distance, and then back to Dean.

Soft: "Dean, let me figure this out, okay? You probably have a concussion and aren't thinking clearly right now. I'm here and we'll figure this out. Breathe, man." Dean meets his eyes uneasily but relaxes back a little, swallowing forcefully.

Turing to the doctor, Sam asks, "What's up, doc?" His efforts to use _Looney Tunes_ humor to diffuse the situation go unheeded, the doctor's face remains stony and Dean's gaze never wavers from the enemy in the room. Tough crowd.

"Your brother is refusing to submit to an examination. He has a concussion and it's making him combative."

Sam can't help his knee jerk response, "That's not the concussion." This time he is rewarded by a fractional lessening of pressure of Dean's grip on his arm as Dean relaxes a little more. Sam clears his throat: "What do you need to do?"

"The nurse is prepping for stitches for your brother's temple, but I'm mostly concerned about internal injuries. I've scheduled an CT scan to make sure he isn't bleeding into his belly and based on the location of the bruising, I want to run a cystoscope into his bladder to check for any tears in the tissue."

_Ahhh_. Sam takes in the syringe and the tubing the doctor is holding with new eyes.

"I see," Sam says even as Dean rallies for another go.

"I told you to get that fucking thing away from me," he growls at the doctor, causing the nurse, who's ready to tend to his forehead, to step back again.

"Dean, chill out." Sam speaks harshly and Dean blinks at him with wounded eyes. "Just relax for a second," Sam says in a softer tone. "Let me talk to the doctor, okay?"

Turning his attention back to the doctor, Sam tries to find some common ground to keep this from spiraling further out of control. Mindful of the bruising grip on his right arm, Sam asks, "What are our options here?"

"If Dean's bleeding into his bladder, he's at risk for clots and urinary complications. It's easy to treat. If there is a tear in the bladder wall we can use the cytoscope to view the damage and also to irrigate the bladder with saline to prevent clotting." Calm. Logical. Rational. A little creepy.

Dean's grip tightens again. He's more lethargic now and he is still clinging to Sam but he has adopted a defensive posture, drawing his legs us, slinging his right arm low, guarding his abdomen.

"What are our other options?" Dean grates out.

The doctor sighs and looks to Sam for support. Sam looks at Dean and then edges slightly in front of him. "What are our other options?" Sam repeats, jaw set.

"Well, our first worry is to get that head wound taken care of." The doctor waves the nurse forward and glances to Sam questioningly. Before nodding his approval, Sam looks at Dean who meets his eyes and then grudgingly lays his head back to give her access to the gash.

As the nurse works, the doctor continues to talk to Sam. "If Dean won't agree to an examination we'll still run a CT scan to look for any gross trauma. However, this won't effectively rule out small tears in the bladder wall and even if it comes back clean, he'll need to be watched over the next couple of days for any signs of internal bleeding. I recommend that he be admitted for observation."

Dean stiffens even as Sam shakes his head. "If the CT scan comes back okay I can watch him for any signs of bleeding." Sam pauses. "What am I looking for?"

"Well, the most obvious sign is blood in the urine. Other possible symptoms are fever, chills, burning when urinating, pain in the side between the ribs and the hip, in the back, or in the lower belly or groin area" -- the doctor gestures with his hand and Dean stiffens again. "Nausea and vomiting are also symptoms. However, with his other injuries, he's probably going to exhibit all of those things." The doctor shakes his head, frustrated. "Make sure he drinks lots of water to keep his bladder flushed out as much as possible and if there is blood in his urine, he needs to come back immediately."

Sam looks at Dean on the exam table. His eyes have closed and, though he hasn't fully released Sam's sleeve, he already seems calmer. The nurse finishes up the last stitch and places clean gauze gently over Dean's temple. Dean's brow furrows momentarily but he otherwise keeps his features schooled.

The doctor steps forward again and gently feels Dean's torso for tenderness and rigidity. Dean watches with a mix of apprehension and irritation but he stays relatively still. As the doctor's hands roam lower, Dean squirms more and finally pushes away, unable to tolerate the intrusion again.

The doctor sighs and tells them to sit tight till they're ready for them in CT.

--

By the time they're finished, Sam is exhausted and Dean practically catatonic.

The doctor enters one last time and with exceeding bravery or perhaps stupidity, brings up the cytoscope again. Starting calmly he assures Sam and Dean that the CT scan has come back clean. "Dean, we didn't detect any sign of internal bleeding. How are you feel? Any stiffness or sharp pain in your gut?"

Dean quickly shakes his head no and after a sharp glance from Sam concedes, "It's sore, but just feels like I've been worked over. Doesn't feel… out of the ordinary."

"Well, we're going to give you something to help with the pain and to help you to relax, okay? Then we can finish up by taking a quick look to make sure everything's still in one piece."

Whatever effect he was hoping for, this probably isn't it: as Sam watches, all of Dean's shields slam fully back into place. Dean's eyes flash and with renewed fervor he refuses any further treatment.

Having made a valiant effort, the doctor levels his gaze at Sam, seeking a confederate in this battle. "Check his urine. Watch for fever, chills, shock, flu like symptoms, and rigidity of his lower abdomen. I highly recommend that he stay in the hospital." He looks at Sam beseechingly and without even glancing to Dean, Sam knows the choice has already been made.

"I'll watch him," he promises. He narrows his eyes at his brother. _I'll watch him _he promises himself.

--

Sam drags his sluggish brother back to the motel. Dean's tense, probably braced for a lecture. Sam mulls things over, his grip on the steering wheel tight.

"What happened?" Sam's quiet voice carries across the darkness.

"What do you mean, what happened?" Dean asks, appalled, face pale, but apparently still possessing the energy to fight. "They wanted to stick a tube in my…" Dean gestures with raised eyebrows. "Not happening."

"Dude, you've had a cath before. This could be serious. It sucks, but it's no big deal." Sam pales a little and swallows but pushes on. "They'd squirt it up with numbing gel first…" Sam's eyebrows squirm their way around as they try to sort out the root of Dean's vehemence. "Are you embarrassed?"

"I am so not having this conversation. And never say 'squirt it up' again. Ever." Dean shifts his eyes to Sam's with finality. "Ever."

"Dean…"

"Sam, I'm fine, okay. Let's go back to the hotel and sleep this off."

"Dean, this might not be something you can sleep off. And if you won't take care of yourself, I will. Did you hear what the doctor said? You're going to have to check your pee for blood and if you're bleeding, we're going back." Sam returns a Finality Look of his own.

Dean swallows and grows even more ashen. "Sam. Are we still having this conversation?"

"If I can't trust you to test it, Dean, I'll do it myself. And we're going to be watching for fever and chills and rigidity, and you have to let me know if you're in pain."

Dean swallows sickly and Sam decides he's pushed enough. "All right, look, maybe you should just try and get some rest. We'll be home soon and you can sleep."

There is a beat of quiet between them and then Sam can't help himself, "How's your stomach?"

"Fine."

"How's your head?"

"Fine."

"Any nausea?"

"Sam."

"Okay. Rest." Sam sinks into frustration. He's sick of his immature uncertainty when it comes to taking care of Dean. Dean invariably takes control of the situation when Sam's hurt but with the situation reversed, Sam's always stuck treading water, wondering how far he should push his brother. He wonders now how guilty he'll feel if Dean is really hurt and he's taken him out of the hospital prematurely. It's going to be a long couple of days.

--

"Do you need to use the bathroom before you crash, Dean?"

Dean stares at him.

"We should check for bleeding."

Dean's stare turns to disbelief tinged with anger. "I'm not a child, Sam, and I am not having this conversation with you. "

Dean hits the bed and quickly turns his back to Sam and is obviously feigning sleep. Mere moments later, however, his breathing evens and he is out.

Sam sighs and covers him gently. "We're doing this my way, Dean," he says quietly, checking for fever now that Dean's walls are lowered.

--

Dean groans himself awake in the morning. With Sam hovering over him half the night, feeling for fever, shifting him around, trying to feel his abs for rigidity, he doesn't feel as though he's had any sleep.

"Dean."

Sam's already in his face. Dean can't even summon the energy to be angry, just mildly annoyed. Huh. Maybe he doesn't feel so great. Dean slaps Sam's hand away from his forehead and then uses it to his advantage to help pull into a sitting position. Muscles protest and he almost sinks back down onto the bed, but Sam's other arm slips around him and supports him into a sitting position. "You're actually letting me up?"

"You need to go to the bathroom so we can check your urine. You can do it in the bathroom or you can do it here, I can get the cup."

Dean blinks. Will the nightmare never end? Too tired to point out the insanity of the situation, Dean growls.

"I know you don't want to do this Dean, but suck it up."

"You're a freak."

"So, cup?" Too perky.

Dean doesn't even bother to respond, just pushes off the bed.

Sam helps him get to his feet. Dean attempts to stand and then settles for a low hunch. He tests the muscles slowly, easing himself toward vertical. Sam waits patiently, supporting his elbow and chest while Dean assesses. Finally, semi-upright, Dean starts shuffling for the door.

"I'm just sore, Sam. Nothing that I haven't felt before." Sam catches him before he reaches the washroom, cup in hand.

"I'm not kidding, Dean. Pee in this and leave it on the counter, and I'll check it when you're done."

"I can do it, Sam."

"I know, but…" The words _I don't trust you_ hang in the air. Dean knows that Sam trusts him. Implicitly. With his life. With his hopes. With his fears. But not with his own health. Sam looks away. "I know, Dean. But I need to. Okay?"

Dean shifts his eyes. 7AM, and he's already beyond mortified. "Whatever rolls your socks up and down, cupcake," he mumbles, pulling the door shut hard behind him.

--

Twenty minutes later Dean is again curled up in the actually comfortable bed and Sam is riding the relief of Dean's translucent pee. He hands Dean a bottle of water. "Drink up. Lots of fluids. Round one." Dean takes the bottle without complaint and sips cooperatively. "How's your head?"

"Fine."

How's your side?"

"Fine."

"Your stomach?"

"Fine."

"Any rigidity?"

"Nope."

"Fever?"

"Nope."

"Roll over and let me feel your abdomen."

Dean tenses. His jaw tightens. He's the picture of barely reined in restraint. "Sam." His tone is razor sharp and dangerously low. "I. Am. Fine. I fucking let you look at my piss. It was fine. Because I'm fine. Fuck off."

Sam squirms under Dean's unwavering glare, not yet sure if he should concede. The bandage on Dean's head needs to be changed. Sam's eyes flit to it and then back to Dean's eyes. He sees rancor there. He backs away, back into uncertain terrain.

Once safely across the room, Sam says, "After you take a shower we can change your gauze."

Dean doesn't respond but relaxes back into the pillows.

Sam sits, staring at his laptop but not really seeing anything, trying to figure Dean out. He almost snorts out loud and the futility of such a quest. For someone who cares about others so much and who watches Sam with the eye of a hawk, Dean rarely takes the time or effort to take care of himself. Sam is resolved: it's time for things to change. Sam's no longer the little boy who needs his older brother to make everything okay. Sam's a man, and it's time Dean allocated more attention to his own needs. And if Dean won't do it, then Sam will.

Glancing at his brother again and knowing that he's asking for certain death, he promises himself that he'll look after Dean with the same fervor that Dean has always given him. Brother to brother. Man to man. Refusing to let himself be pushed away by his own uncertainty.

As he's glancing over Dean's prone form, Dean's eyes open and catch his scrutiny. Sam risks Dean's wrath by refusing to let himself look away. Instead he smiles and lets his expression soften, almost amused at Dean's sudden unease.

"What? Stop looking at me," Dean growls, as if he already senses the change.

"Go back to sleep, Dean. I'll go get us some food." With his new found resolve, Sam detours past the bed and gently palpates Dean's abdomen, no longer needing approval. Dean half-heartedly attempts to refute his hands and Sam's surprised that he hasn't already been knocked flat on his ass. Dean eyes him with confusion but Sam breathes easier after feeling only the normal tautness of Dean's belly. He pats Dean's shoulder without further comment and grabs the keys. As he hits the door, he glances back and sees that Dean's eyes are still on him. "Breakfast or lunch, dude?"

Dean smiles. A relieved, soft, genuine smile that Sam can't help returning. "Pancakes. And sausage. And turn out the lights before they finish drilling through my skull."

Sam watches as Dean turns over, trusting his back to Sam and cocooning himself in the blankets.

Sam nods to himself, shuts off the lights, and promises.

--

end.


End file.
